Baston woke before the morning bell rang.
It was not the hunger that dragged him out of sleep nor the dull anxiety that usually accompanied his mornings. Instead, it was a sensation that was so unfamiliar which his body reacted before his mind could name this phenomenon.
It was still and cold, just like the icy atmosphere on snowy mountain.
It was not the biting cold of winter air nor the numb chill of the stone floors. This cold was quiet, refined, and intimate. It was like something that had settled inside him and made itself at home.
He lay still on the narrow bed with opened eyes and slow breathing.
The room was unchanged. It was the same for the cracked ceiling, the thin blanket, and the faint smell of dust and old wood. Nothing about his living space looked different yet, he could feel the change. The sensation he felt upon looking inside his body couldn't be a lie.
Baston lifted his hand. The moment he did, the cold responded.
It did not gather in the air but it accumulated beneath his skin. It was threading through his veins and nerves with eerie familiarity.
There was no resistance, no confusion, and no need to concentrate. The cold sensation obeyed him completely. A thin film of frost bloomed across his palm, forming intricate patterns before he could even think to stop it.
Baston sucked in a breath and clenched his fist. The frost vanished instantly and his heart began to pound.
"So, it wasn't a dream…"
The old book lay beside him on the bed. It was closed and silent just like any other book.
Its surface looked no different from before. There was no glow, no markings, and no sense of triumph. If not for the lingering chill in his chest, Baston might have believed that he imagined everything.
All of this was just a dream and he was still sleeping soundly.
Slowly and cautiously, he reached for it. The moment his fingers touched the cover, the other memories surfaced unbidden.
It wasn't images but it was about his past performance.
The book had never praised him. It had never comforted him because it had merely observed its participant.
It remembered the shove in the corridor. It judged his hesitation, his decision to speak, and his lie which was wrapped in truth.
The way Panto's eyes had widened which was not in anger but fear. The feeling he evoked by a blatant lie, yet in the end, he succeeded on his performance.
Baston opened the old book. The last page was no longer empty.
There were no words written plainly and no explanations meant for beginners. Instead, faint traces like previous impressions were left behind. Even after the ink had been wiped away, it still lingered on the paper.
Somehow, he understood the meaning.
The old book had weighed his actions. It didn't judge whether he was right or wrong. It didn't judge whether he was cruel or kind. It only judged for his effectiveness.
When he first crossed paths with Panto, the old book had stirred faintly and unimpressed. That encounter alone would have earned him a little more than acknowledgment.
The fear that was born from coincidence faded quickly.
However, Baston had stayed. He had pushed again and not with his strength but with his timing.
The beginning came from the shove in the class, the whisper after that, and the implication that was left deliberately unfinished. He had not chased Panto because he had let Panto chase himself. He let the boy believed his words.
In the end, the timid boy chose him. His perception had changed completely because of his bizarre action.
Baston swallowed since the old book valued his performance and understanding. Most of all, it rewarded those who learned how performance worked in this world.
When he had finally closed the book the night before, the page had changed secretly. Something inside him had been unlocked and Baston took a look at the old book once again with his trembled hands.
"So, that's what it meant…" he whispered.
The old book had evaluated him and his performance was excellent. At the same time, the cold stirred in response as if it was pleased by the recognition.
The mana moved differently now in his body. In just one night, he drastically transformed himself from nobody into somebody.
Previously, it had been something distant which was an abstract concept that kind of discussed in classrooms and demonstrations. The students spoke of it as though it were air or water. It was something abundant but difficult to gather.
For Baston, it had been worse at first.
His mana had always felt like a locked door. He could sense it and touch it faintly but no matter how hard he tried, it slipped away and it refused to obey.
Now, it changed completely. Now, it flowed yet it was not wildly and violently but cleanly.
He sat on the edge of the bed. With his eyes closed, he tested it again.
The mana did not surge. It was waiting to be processed and that realization sent a chill deeper than the frost ever could. He finally could control magic.
His power neither borrowed nor forced. It was granted to him as a reward for his excellent performance on the quest.
Most students spent years of learning how to circulate mana without harming themselves.
Even the nobles who was blessed with resources and tutors had been struggling to refine their control beyond the crude manifestations.
Baston eventually needed no such effort.
The knowledge unfolded in his mind like a book he had once studied long ago. It provided everything he needed from the casting into the manipulation.
He did not need to memorize it from the beginning since it entered his brain automatically. It was as if the ice element itself had accepted him and whispered its secrets directly into his heart.
"Is this thing safe enough…?" he muttered.
Unexpectedly, some thinking came up in his mind that the power which was gained too quickly should be never free.
The book had not told him the price and that worried him more than anything else. After all, he believed in logic and there must be a balance.
At the moment, he was rewarded with minimal effort. He wished to gain more strength, but at the same time, he was afraid of the future price.
The old book he held looked very kind, but once he depended too much on it, the consequence might rush into him unexpectedly. Even though he hesitated, he tried to forget the matter.
After all, his poor status couldn't guarantee what would happen to him.
*****
The morning passed quietly.
After getting dressed, Baston started his activity as usual. His walking was more careful and his thoughts were quite restless than before.
Even though he was wary of his new strength, his stomach unexpectedly reminded him of the reality soon enough. Apparently, the newfound power did not fill empty bellies.
He wanted to eat more but he still lacked the money to buy even a simple breakfast.
As he stepped into the corridor, several students streamed past him. Their voices were loud and careless.
Nothing had changed for them, but for him, something had changed. Halfway down the hall, he saw Panto.
The boy's posture had changed overnight.
The boy didn't become the careless swagger like before. Also, the boy didn't utter the loud laughs and cruel jabs.
Panto moved like someone who was afraid of the shadows. His eyes were darting constantly as if expecting something to emerge from behind every corner.
When he noticed Baston ahead, something unexpected crossed his face. It was relief since inside his mind, his savior was here. Finally, someone who would be able to protect him from any harm came to the scene.
Panto then quickened his pace, arriving near the fat boy.
"Baston…" he said quietly, stepping closer than usual.
Baston frowned, "What?"
"Is… Is someone still watching me?"
The question was uttered silently, barely audible over the noise of the corridor.
Baston felt strange over what the boy was asking. He studied him to see what had happened in one day.
The dark circles were framed on Panto's eyes. His hands twitched slightly at his sides and he looked like someone who had spent the entire night to convince himself that everything was safe.
"No…" Baston answered truthfully, "There's no one."
Panto hesitated, "Are you sure?"
"Yes…"
"How can you be so sure?"
That question made Baston pause. He could have laughed it off and he could have brushed him aside.
However, something in Panto's expression explained everything. It was raw and fragile fear, making the boy looked weak and meek in front of him.
Without thinking, Baston then lifted his hand.
The new ice magic answered instantly. A faint shimmer of frost formed along his fingers, making it subtle enough for just him to notice. By then, it soon vanished just as quickly as he manifested the miracle.
Panto saw it and he believed such blue and white color in front of him was magic.
"You're…" his voice cracked, "You're a wizard? You could control magic from the beginning"
Baston lowered his hand, "Don't tell anyone…"
The single sentence sealed several explanations.
Panto's imagination soon ignited while his fear did the rest. Everything that Baston had endured with every insult, every shove, and other else were rewritten in Panto's mind as deliberate patience.
His strength was hidden beneath the layers of restraint. He held back his power for reasons beyond his understanding.
The possibility that Baston had only just gained this miracle never even occurred to him.
People like that didn't suddenly awaken. He believed the fat boy had endured injustice just to hide everything. Baston's first impression successfully fooled him.
"Are you connected to my father?" Panto asked slowly, choosing each word with care.
Baston blinked, "I don't know your father."
The answer only deepened the mystery.
By the time they reached the classroom, Panto had already decided something important. Baston was dangerous and it was better to stand beside him rather than to stand against him.
*****
In the meantime, the mana manipulation class unfolded as usual.
The nobles filled the front rows while their confidence was loud and unashamed. The merchants occupied the center and they were competent but cautious. For the back seats, everything was left to the poor and the commoners.
Once again, Baston was forced to be invisible just because of his poor status. There was no other way since it was a hard truth.
He had to accept this situation whether he liked it or not.
Miss Pashan stood at the front and her voice was calm as she explained the lesson. She demonstrated the magic control effortlessly, shaping her mana with elegance that was born from many years of practice.
The students followed her example and the orbs of light formed across the room. Some were bright, some were unstable, and some were barely visible.
On the other hand, Baston didn't move.
It was not because he didn't have any magic but because he wanted to stick toward his role. Even though he had already finished the quest and Panto had seen his magic, he still wanted to convince the boy.
His magic should be hidden for now, signaling Panto to follow with this fake truth. It would be fine if everyone ignored him yet Miss Pashan noticed his stillness.
"Why aren't you practicing?" she asked.
Baston bowed his head slightly, "I lack talent, teacher. Because of this, I thought it was better for me to observe others first."
She studied him briefly, and then, she nodded and moved on as expected.
Once again, he was invisible. The relief washed through Baston silently.
From his seat, Panto watched secretly. He alone knew the truth and Baston's restraint only confirmed his suspicions further.
As the lesson continued, Baston leaned back in his chair while his thoughts were drifting.
The book had rewarded him and it was not with gold and status but with possibility. He suspected that possibility might be quite dangerous. After all, it was to easy to earn.
When the bell that was signaling the end of class started to ring, Baston closed his eyes briefly.
His thought lingered on the old book longer than it should have. He began thinking about several possibilities.
He wondered how he could change his poor fate. After all, he didn't plan to stay inside poverty.
The poverty itself was a quiet and patient disease. It was one that starved slowly, pressed gently, and left no visible wounds. Such disease could control his fate, making his life becoming very pitiful.
Fortunately, the old book had given him a great blessing. Even though so, he was afraid of the implication.
The old book frightened him not because it was cruel but because it was honest.
It did not pretend to be kind and it did not disguise its intentions behind false hope. It watched, it judged, and it rewarded his performance.
It was nothing more and nothing less. That alone made the book so mysterious yet Baston knew something clearly. Without the old book, he had nothing. He had no family influence, no wealth, and no talent worth noticing.
If he waited patiently like everyone had told him to, he would remain invisible until the day he was quietly discarded.
The academy did not care about the effort since it cared about the outcomes. The results unfortunately favored those who already had everything.
At the moment, the book offered him choices.
Even if those choices were sharp-edged, he could only accept it.
Baston tightened his fingers against the desk. He did not trust the old book completely. He doubted he ever would, but turning away from it now would mean returning to the path that he wanted to leave.
The given possibility was dangerous but the stagnation was certain if he did nothing.
Around him, several students laughed, complained, and gathered their belongings.
He rose with them, moved quietly, and being forgotten once more. As he stepped into the corridor, the faint cold stirred within his chest.
Whether the book was a guide or a trap no longer mattered. As long as it continued to open doors, Baston would keep walking through them.
Even if one day, the price it demanded could no longer be ignored.